Slayer in Alt
by breebren
Summary: NOt a very good title, but will make sense later. Takes place 8 years after Buffy's 'death'. Still another threat to Gotham. Thanks to everyone who has read my storeis, I really appreciate it, and this will be the last one in this series. Review Please! Iron Man is in here also, and there isn't much telling who is going to turn up later. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

Prologue

_And in financial news today, Gotham is celebrating the seventh anniversary of the merger of Wayne Enterprises and Stark Industries. The power house that is Wayne-Stark International, in commemoration, announced this morning that they will be opening a factory in the struggling warehouse district of Sheal that will create another 575 jobs for Gothamites. All ready, in the past 7 years, Wayne-Stark International has created over four-thousand new jobs in Gotham City and surrounding area, bringing a record financial stability that has not been seen in over forty years. The new factory, which is rumored to be an extension of Wayne Foods, is scheduled to open in mid-April. _

_ And now it is time for a last look at the weather, and is it going to be a cold one…_

Had it been 8 years already? It seemed like it had only been a few weeks or maybe even a few months, but years? And then there were times when it seemed like it had been ten times as long. Immeasurable by human standards.

Every moment was empty. Every breath he took meaningless. The days dragged on, void of emotion and hope. The nights moved just the same, but at least to him they had some meaning. Not the meaning that they had once had: the night had once been a time when he fought to preserve Gotham, to save it from the criminals that terrorized her streets. But now, all the night did was serve as a reminder of what he had once believed in. What he had once been.

Now he looked out over the city he had fought so hard to save with loathing. The criminals he had once hunted to justice were only a means to an end but with no end in sight. He didn't even deny the fact that he hoped that one would get lucky, that he was a little too slow, and that would be the conclusion of all his misery.

How much more was he willing to sacrifice for this trying city and her people?

The answer: no more.

He worked himself to exhaustion, staying out until the sun came up. Sleep was something he tried to avoid at all cost, because when he slept, he dreamed, and when he dreamed, he saw her.

Waking was the most painful. Just as his mind and body were waking, he would reach for her instinctively. Even after all this time, his arms were still programmed to find her and hold her. There were even some times when he would awaken in concern, wondering where she was. Had she made it home from patrolling? Only to remember that she was no longer there. That she was gone from him forever.

It took all of his will power to not curl into a ball and weep like a lost child, not to wail his anger at the world.

It took even more to pretend to care.

There were times when he could hear her voice, the tickle of her laughter to his ears as if instilled in the walls themselves.

He returned to the manor in the morning, so tired and beaten he could barely stand. To the east wing, empty and alone, where she only echoed to him.

His daughter was there, her smiles meant to lighten his heart, but instead they drove knives into it. She looked more and more like her every day, and he could not stand to watch it happen.

Of course they consoled him. Tried to comfort him. He gave them vacant smiles for their trouble, his eyes unable to even fake it. His family should have made him want to live on, to look at each new day as a new beginning, but they did not. They tried and some days he was thankful for them. And other days, he loathed them for it.

Those days were getting more and more frequent.

He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He just wished it would end.


	2. Chapter 1: Moving On?

Chapter One: Moving On

The manor was quiet as Richard crept through it. He was master at this by now, getting in and out of the house undetected. What made it even more of a miraculous feat was that Jarvis had not told on him, especially to Alfred. He imagined Uncle Tony had something to do with that.

Up the stairs and to his room. The sun was just beginning to peak out over the horizon. He still has time to grab a couple of hours of sleep before having to get up and go to the tutor's.

"I'm telling."

There was one person who always greeted him at this time, the one person he could not sneak around. Hand on the door handle, he turned to see Marti peeking out of her doorway, blonde hair mussed from sleep, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. She was becoming more and more like her mother.

"Go back to bed, Marti," he told her. Not waiting for her retaliation, he entered his room, closing the door softly behind him, and immediately fell on his bed to get some sleep.

When he woke up again, he lay looking out the window. The day was going to be another dreary one: gray clouds, the promise of snow. Again.

He felt something. He felt that something was wrong. But he didn't need whatever abilities he had to know that. This feeling, however, was not something that came and went: it was there all the time and had been for 8 years.

Sighing, he got up, showered, and dressed, and then went in to make sure Marti was ready.

"Is Daddy taking us to school today?" She asked as she asked every morning.

"I think Alfred is," he answered helping her with her coat. He and Marti did not go to 'school'. They went to a tutor. Willow had taught him when he was younger, but social services hadn't been too happy about that, so Bruce had hired a private tutor. When Marti was school age, she had started going to the same tutor. Richard was glad he and Marti did not go to public school. He had never really liked hanging around with other children and he was even happier that they didn't go to private school. He may have been adopted by a billionaire, but deep down he was still and always would be a circus brat. He was glad Marti didn't go because he didn't want her to turn out to be a spoiled rich kid. So, it worked out for both of them.

"Daddy hasn't taken us in a long time," she continued, taking his hand as they left the room. "Why not?"

"He has a lot to do," Richard lied. The same lie he always told and he hated having to do it, but he doubted she would understand the truth. He really didn't either.

"When does he not have a lot to do?" Marti skipped along at his side. The look on her face was so like her mother's that Richard had to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in his throat before he could answer.

"He runs an international corporation and…" He couldn't finish the sentence. How could he explain to an 8 year old girl that her father spent his nights patrolling the streets of the city for criminals? Especially if he wasn't sure if that was as true as it once was. "He has a lot of meetings and stuff."

"I suppose," she said with a smile.

"Well, look who's up and ready to go," Faith stated, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs. She looked as if she had gone one on one with something really big and mean, and she more than likely had.

For the past several months, there had been more demons and vampires than ever flooding into Gotham. Faith and Spike had heard from several reliable sources that something big was going to happen, about to happen. And soon. As always. At least they had had some sort of peace these past few years. As much as they could have. Richard had overheard Faith telling Giles and Willow that it was her time to be tested and she didn't feel she was ready for it.

Richard had heard things too.

But he wasn't about to tell anyone where he had heard them from.

"Aunt Faith, how did you get all beat up?" Marti asked, all wide eyed and innocent.

"Well, um…" Faith was looking for a way out. If she couldn't punch it or kick it, she was at a loss.

"She fell down the steps in the back," Giles stated. Tweed jacket, cup of hot tea in his hands, glasses firmly in place; he reminded Richard of a professor instead of a librarian, or a Watcher for that matter. "Rather clumsy of her really." He smiled as he passed through, on his way out to his job at the museum.

Faith smiled, a little strained. "Yeah, that's me," she said at length. "Gawky ol' Faith. It's amazing I can make it up to my room without hurting myself." She rolled her eyes, when Richard was the only one who could see the gesture, as she went up the stairs. She even had the mind to trip, catching herself on the banister.

Richard guided Marti on through the house until they found Alfred in the kitchen. He already had breakfast ready for them and waiting on the table. His smile was warm, but a little strained and Richard knew it had nothing to do with either him or Marti.

"Good morning, children," Alfred stated. The hand that poured each of them orange juice was steady, but Richard not only knew the butler well, but he was good at noticing things. He had had a very good teacher.

"Has daddy left for work yet?" Marti asked. She had had to, thought Richard. She always did.

Alfred's face remained neutral, but Richard saw the look in his eyes, the sadness that passed over them. His body language said it all: Bruce was still in the manor and he was trying to decide if he should say so or not.

"Eat your breakfast," Richard told her. "We have to hurry and get to the tutor's."

"But I want to see him," Marti protested. Her features were setting into a stubborn line – one so familiar. "I haven't seen him in days."

"He's busy, Marti," Richard went on, digging into the plate of food before him even though he had lost his appetite. It had been more than a few days, more like weeks, since Marti had seen her father. He himself had only seen him once in that amount of time. No, not Bruce. He had seen Batman, but…

"You used to come in to tell me 'goodnight,' and he hasn't in so long," Marti began, her lower lip sticking out. "Is he mad at me?"

"Oh, sweetheart, no," Alfred stated, patting her honey-blonde curls. He cleared his throat, his eyes misty. "No, he has just been…busy."

"Eat up, Marti," Richard said. The food tasted like ash in his mouth. How long was this going to go on? How could Bruce do this to his own child? "We have to go soon."

Spike drew the last drag from the cigarette then immediately tossed it into the water.

The damn bats were driving him nuts.

They made noise day and night, fluttered around, and were just basically annoying. But, as bad as they were, he couldn't bring himself to live in the mansion above him. Oh sure, it was comfortable, and there were places he could go to avoid the sunlight during the day, but for some reason the cave just felt more like home.

Yes, he missed her. Hell, they all did. And while what had happened between them years ago had been over years ago – his getting turned to dust the finale of that relationship – that didn't mean that he hadn't cared for her anymore. Jealous, maybe a little. But at least it hadn't been that tosser, Angel, she had taken up with. No, she had been happy, and that had made Spike happy enough. He just wished he had gotten to see it firsthand.

Angelus had broken him of his pansy ways centuries ago, but Spike had his soul now. And down here in this cave, alone, he wept. There were times he couldn't help it. Especially when he did venture up into the mansion and saw that little girl. That little girl that looked so much like Buffy, acted like her, made faces like her.

He wasn't pining over a woman, slayer or not, that he had at one time thought he had loved. No, he was sad because that little girl would never know what a wonderful, special, and strong woman her mother had been. She would never know the woman that he, Willow, Xander, and Giles had known. Sure, they could tell her about her and what she had done for this world, but telling was not anywhere near as witnessing firsthand, and she had been robbed of that.

He sighed, lighting another cigarette.

This world was not fair. Not at all.

Willow was close to placing a pillow over Xander's face, if only to stop the snoring.

Xander was a sleep on the couch in what Willow considered the library in the mansion. It was a nice one, that was for sure, with books ranging from medical journals to first prints of classics and now the Watcher Diaries and the various other books that she and Giles had accumulated over the years had a home here.

Demons popped up here and there, and while Giles continued his job at the Museum, it was left to Willow to be the stand-in Watcher for Faith.

It hurt like hell, but she did it.

Instead of smothering her friend, she tossed a wadded up piece of paper at him, hitting him squarely on the nose.

"Huh? What?" Xander sat up in a hurry, looking around anxiously. He turned to see Willow's smile, apologetic and sad all at once, and smiled back, just as sad. "Hey."

"Hey," Willow responded, closing the book in front of her. A group of demons had moved into Gotham in the last few weeks. Faith had not seen or fought any of them, but her sources had been adamant that they were out there. Given the descriptions, Willow had thought she would be able to find them in one book or another. So far no luck.

Xander sighed, deep and loud, putting his feet on the floor, and running his hands through his hair. Looking at the clock in the room, he noticed how early it was. Richard and Marti would have left for the tutor's by now.

"Have you not slept at all? I mean, your nose was wedged into a book pretty deep when I passed out at about 2 this morning."

Willow shook her head, leaning her head onto her hand, arm propped up on the desk she sat at. "No." She met his eyes. "I thought pain was supposed to lessen over time. You know, time heals all wounds and all."

Xander nodded, clasping his hand together as his elbows rested on his knees. "Time is a bitch. A big, smelly, dumb bitch that doesn't care about anyone or anything. And it doesn't make certain things easier."

"Yeah," Willow stated. "Isn't that the truth?"


	3. Chapter 2: Missing Persons

Chapter Two: Missing Persons

Tony Stark glanced at the empty chair next to him, and then met Lucius Fox's gaze with a shrug.

It wasn't like it was anything new when Bruce Wayne did not show up for board meetings. He showed up about as much as he had the seven years he had been missing. Maybe they should have him reported as legally dead again. He might as well as been.

Tony listened with the same amount of attention as he gave the news reports about the odd behavior of Bruce Wayne, which was close to nonexistent. On TV, in the papers, they were all wondering why the Prince of Gotham had become a recluse, never leaving his mansion, not even to take his daughter and adopted son to their private tutor.

It was stupid. Of course he had sealed himself up in his fortress. Had they really forgotten why?

Of course, they didn't know that he was not the complete recluse they thought he was. He went out at night. Dressed as a giant bat that fought crime, but at least he was getting out.

Tony didn't know which was worse: staying in or going out.

He was leaning toward the going out.

With Pepper running Stark Industries in California, Tony spent most of his time in Gotham. He sometimes asked himself why he bothered. He wasn't needed here, not at Wayne Tower. Lucius took care of the business.

But then again, he did know why. Someone had to keep an eye on Batman. Someone had to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Tony had taken it upon himself to do that, much to the relief of Alfred and Lucius.

So, at night, he flew around the Gotham City skyline, staying out of the way, but always with that _blip_ on his radar thanks to the HUB connection in the Tumbler and in the bat armor he himself had modified years ago. If the Bat knew that he was being followed, he hadn't made it known to Ironman, but Tony was cautious just the same.

Over the years, ever since Buffy had died, he and Bruce had gotten into more than a few arguments. Mainly dealing with Bruce's lack of venturing into the daylight. He never even touched on getting over the loss. He would never do that. He hadn't known her for long, just a day and a half really, but even in his haze of self importance, he had realized what a special woman she had been, and not just because she could bench press a motorcycle. Could she have done that? Willow had told him that she had thrown a dead horse once a good distance to close a portal of sort that a monster all mouth had been trying to come through. Dead horse. Motorcycle. Was there that much of a difference in weight? It would depend on the motorcycle, wouldn't it?

Tony shook his head. That wasn't important. What was important was if he was brave enough or concerned enough to confront his friend once more. Another fight? More than likely. Nothing had done much good before, but if it was one thing Tony Stark was known for it was stubbornness. That and everything else he was. What had Agent Romanoff stated in her evaluation of him: self obsessed, volatile, and not good at playing with others?

The incident with the Tesseract and the Chitauri had proved at least one of those wrong.

When the meeting was over, Tony remained sitting while everyone, except Mr. Fox, filed out. Once the door was closed, Lucius took off his glasses and set them aside.

"When was the last time you talked to him?"

Tony snorted, leaning back in his chair. "A few months ago, and I wouldn't consider it 'talking' as much as 'arguing'." Tony shook his head. "He refuses to leave the east wing. Alfred takes his food into him, but doesn't see him when he does. He won't even spend any time with Marti or Richard anymore."

"I heard the Batman got a little rough with a couple of guys he caught breaking into a jewelry store the other night," Lucius stated, tapping a pen on the notepad in front of him. "Beat them up quite good actually."

"I got there and stopped him. He didn't say anything to me. He just looked at me as if he could have hit me and then he left."

"Everything is running fine here, but…" Lucius let the end of the sentence hang in the air. "Are you going to go and try to talk to him?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of seeing my Goddaughter," Tony stated as he stood from his seat. "I haven't seen Marti in a week."

"What about Richard?"

Tony grimaced. "Yeah, him I see a lot, but if Bruce finds out what that boy is doing at night, he is going to be even more pissed off at me than he already is."

"He really shouldn't be surprised. Isn't that why he started training the young man?" Lucius stood also, gathering his things from the conference table.

"Well, let's just say that my making sure that Nightwing does not cross the path of Batman won't go over well."

When the Rolls drove up to the mansion that afternoon, Richard was not surprised to see Bruce's car still sitting exactly where it had been when they had left that morning. Disappointed, as he had been for some time now, but not surprised.

Marti went upstairs to play while Alfred went into the kitchen. It was only 2:30 in the afternoon so Giles would not be home for a while, and Faith would not wake up for some time yet. Spike was, as usual, in the cave until nightfall and Willow and Xander were either sleeping (not together) or searching through tome after tome for some demon or another. And Bruce…

Richard sighed and made his way toward the east wing. He didn't know what exactly he was going to do once he got there, but he knew he had to do something – say something.

If he didn't know better, he would swear the east wing was an unused part of the mansion that no one entered at all. It was so quiet, deafeningly so, and compared to the rest of the mansion, nearly bare of furniture. The only sign that anyone had been here before him was the tray set on the lone table in the room. Lifting up the silver lid that covered the tray, he saw that the food was untouched.

Deeper in he went until he finally found Bruce seated in a dark room, staring at nothing, the drapes drawn tight against the daylight. For a brief moment, Richard wondered what had happened to the man who had taken him in all those years ago. He knew the answer for it had left a hole in his heart and world also.

He turned to leave, not knowing what to say or do now that he was here. What could he say that he hadn't already said?

"How is Marti?"

The voice was assaulting in a way. It made Richard flinch to hear it.

It also made him angry.

"Why the hell do you care?" He snapped, spinning back around. "You haven't even seen her in how long? She wonders where you are. She thinks she has done something to make you angry at her. She misses you and she doesn't understand why she has to."

Bruce just sat there. Still in the dark. Eyes fixed on nothing. The silence stretched for so long that Richard believed no answer would be forthcoming. His anger raged, clenching his hands into fists, making him have to bite his tongue to keep from saying something he would regret.

"I – " Bruce began, but shook his head. Standing, he turned his back on Richard. "I can't."

"Do you think that you own the corner market on this?" Richard yelled at him. "Do you think the rest of us aren't hurting?" How many times had he asked these questions before? "Do you believe that the rest of us have stopped feeling? Have stopped missing her? Do you think that we don't miss you?"

And still he just stood there, saying nothing.

"She would be ashamed of you," Richard whispered. He could swear that Bruce flinched.

Richard closed the door gently behind him as he left.

When he got upstairs, he could hear Marti giggling.

Uncle Tony was here.

"Hey, wonder boy," Tony said in greeting as Richard leaned against the door frame. "How you are?"

Richard had to smile. "Same old."

Tony nodded, his brow furrowing. Then he shook his head. "Not taking visitors?"

"No," Richard answered. He entered the room and took a seat in the rocking chair in the corner. Marti sat in the center of her bed. She smiled at him and his heart wrenched. Tony sat on the bottom corner of the bed, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall before him. He shook his head again, this time as if to clear it, and pinched Marti's nose, making her giggle.

"How about this weekend we go to the zoo or something?" He asked, looking from the little girl to Richard. "We can go and eat food that would make Alfred faint if he knew."

"Will Daddy come with us?" Marti asked, innocently brushing the hair of her favorite doll, a handmade, expensive doll at that.

"We'll see," Tony answered, as enthusiastic as he could. It was very convincing.

Alfred appeared at the door. "Would anyone care for a late lunch?"

"Yes!" Marti jumped off the bed and grabbed the butler's hand and together they made their way down to the kitchen.

When their footsteps faded away, Richard leaned back in the rocking chair, bumping his head against the back of the chair over and over.

"Director Fury asked me if Batman would be interested in joining the Avengers," Tony admitted, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break out across his face. "I told him that if I failed the evaluation and they still let me in, then hell, go for it, but not to get his hopes up."

"If he thinks that you don't play well with others, and then just wait until he meets Batman. And by meet him I mean if he is willing to break into some place to get his attention." Richard leaned forward. "Because if anyone wants to talk to him, that is the best way to do it."

"Good to know. Maybe I will set off a few alarms and see if he is in the mood to talk." Tony grimaced. "That wouldn't go over that well. He might not be able to do any damage to my Iron Man armor, at least I don't think so, but the armament of the Tumbler might make a dent or two."

"Staying for lunch?" Richard asked, getting to his feet. That hit he had taken last night to the knee cap was not unpainful. Was that even a word?

"Sure. Why not? I would be an idiot to pass up on Alfred's cooking."


	4. Chapter 3: Alternate: Lost Girl

Notes: Ok. Here we go. This is the part I have really been waiting to post. I hope you like it. Review, comment – all appreciated!

Chapter Three: Alternate: Lost Girl

Before the sun rose, she slipped out of bed and into the bathroom to get dressed for the long day ahead of her.

As she tiptoed across the floor, making sure not to wake the two boys who were still sleeping, she wondered for a brief moment what life was like somewhere else. Anywhere else. But this was all she knew. At least, it was all she could remember.

The 'bed' she and her twin sons slept on was only a thin mattress on the floor in front of the only heater in the apartment. It was a small heater, only giving off enough heat for the one small room that served as living room, dining room, and bedroom. The mattress, a broke down couch, one side table, and a beat up chair were all that there was room for. There was a small kitchen, barely big enough for one person to move around in. Meals were eaten where sleep was taken. The bathroom was nothing more than a stall with a sink, toilet that seemed dirty no matter how much she scrubbed, and a bathtub she was just waiting to fall through the floor the next time she put water in it to bath her children.

At least they had a roof over their head, which was more than most in this city could say.

Water to fill the tub was only allowed once a week. She had learned to half ration it: half to bathe her sons and half to scrub the laundry.

Water from the sink in both the bath and kitchen was given more freely. It was not easy to wash her hair in the sink, but there was no other choice. Sponge bathing was done quickly and gave her a chill that the cold air did not.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered what life had been like before.

Before…

She had woken up in the hospital. Actually, it hadn't been a hospital, per se. It had once been a legitimate hospital, maybe, once, long ago. But then and now it was nothing more than a free clinic. Most of the things here were free, but they were hard or aggravating to get.

That had been…how long ago?

They had told her that she had taken a pretty nasty hit on the head. One so severe that she had been in a coma for four months. They had told her that her memory might come back and it might not. They had not known for sure. So, far it hadn't.

Three months later, she had given birth to her sons. She had no idea who their father was or even where he could be. She had named the oldest Thomas and the youngest Patrick. She did not know why. She just had.

She bundled up to make it look good, kissed her boys good-bye, and carefully exited the apartment. She locked the door, putting the key in her pocket. Her sons knew to not open the door except for Mrs. Raglan next door and that under no circumstances were they to leave the apartment unless it was an emergency.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Raglan said as she answered her door. She was an elderly woman, maybe 60 or so, with steal gray hair and a hunched posture. Her husband was blind and deaf and she cared for him as she had since the accident had occurred that had left him handicapped nearly twenty years before. She also enjoyed keeping an eye on Thomas and Patrick. And both the boys liked her also. "Do you have a moment for a cup of coffee?"

"No, I'm sorry. I have to get down to the Depot early so I can get to work on time. The boys are still asleep."

"I will see to it that they have breakfast and behave themselves," the old woman promised with a gentle smile. "You take care, dearie. And be safe out there. It is dangerous for a woman such as yourself."

She made her way out of the apartment building and onto the streets. Cold and dismal as always.

The streets were strewn with garbage. It was not knee deep or anything of that nature. Garbage trucks still ran in the city twice a week.

Soon, as she did every week, she found herself standing in line at the food depot. The sky above her was gray. The streets were gray. The buildings were gray. Everything was gray.

If gray could be a mood that would be the mood of everyone she now stood with, including herself. Everyone was gray. Everyone felt gray. Everyone looked gray.

The line was long and the going slow, but it was finally her turn. She was given the usual; cereal, oatmeal, carious canned goods, powdered milk, dried fruit, bread, and a bag of chicken legs and thighs, still frozen solid. She also received a few essentials like toothpaste, dish washing liquid, and such.

There were several bags and she struggled to carry them all. It was several blocks back to her apartment and she had to hurry. On the days she had to go to the food depot, her employer allowed her to arrive at her job late, but she only had until noon to get there. The pay was horrible, but it was the only job that she could get that did not involve selling her body and/or her soul to strangers. She had children to feed and take care of, but she also had her pride.

Once she was two blocks from the food depot and she was sure no one was around, she stood up straight, shifting the weight of the bags and began to walk normal, as if the burden she was carrying was nothing at all. And to her, it wasn't.

It took her only a few more moments to get back to her apartment. She opened the door, and was greeted by her children immediately.

They did not ask what she had brought back with her. They knew. It never changed. This was all they knew, so they couldn't want what they didn't know they were missing.

She put away everything, spent some time with her children, and then kissed them good-bye and out the door, stopping only long enough to check in with Ms. Raglan.

Her job was at the Waste and Recycling Facility. Rumor had it that the building used to, at one time, been a prison, but now it was a dirty place with conveyor belts and large machines used to process the waste and recyclables.

Truckloads of garbage, from where she did not know, were brought in a dumped in huge containers. Then it was placed on conveyor belts and went to different areas. Her job, along with nearly twenty others, was to separate what was not recyclable from what was. Paper, plastic, and the rare metal object, was all sent on different conveyor belts to other workers in different areas. It was a tiresome, dirty, and tedious job. One she hated. She worked 12 hours a day, six days a week, with an hour to eat, and four 15 minute breaks. After her shift, she was filthy and smelled horrible. It was amazing what came down that conveyor belt sometimes.

Everyone was searched before leaving the facility, to make sure they had not pocketed anything that could be of value. Anyone found with such an object was detained, and the militia was called in.

The militia was who ran the city. A bunch of gun toting thugs who beat whoever they wanted to beat up, take whatever they wanted to take, and do whatever they wanted to do. If you didn't break the rules, or cause any trouble, they left you alone.

She made damn sure that she didn't cause any trouble.

When she got to work, and was clocked in, her boss, a fat sweaty guy who looked at her, like he did all the woman who worked here, with a perverseness that made her skin crawl. He informed her that she was to work in the Kitchen and to get there quick.

The Kitchen was a few blocks over where the militia ate their meals. It was, in her opinion, worse than the waste/recycle facility. The water used to wash dishes came in only one temperature: scalding hot. And there were plenty of dishes, pots, pans, silverware, and glasses to wash. There were five thousand or so militia members in the city and they all ate at the Kitchen all day and every day.

And the militia guys were very touchy feely. Fortunately for the girls, like her, who got the job of washing dishes, the commander on duty did not approve of the men manhandling the Kitchen staff. So, she occasionally had to deal with a pinch or a slap on the bottom, but that was all the militia guys dared to do under the watchful eyes of the Kitchen commander.

For 12 hours she slaved in the hot kitchen, sweat pouring off of her. At the end of her shift, her hands and her arms up to her elbows were red from the heat of the water they had been, and her clothes were soaking wet. Wrapped in her coat, she trembled as she walked with everyone else out of the Kitchen. Once clear, and on her own, she stopped the shivering and the fake exhaustion and made her way home.

She wanted to get home, take a quick, semi warm shower, kiss her kids goodnight, and hopefully sleep deeply until she had to get up and go back to work.

That was not to be, however.

Two blocks from her apartment building, she heard a noise that not only made her stop in her tracks, but triggered something deep inside of her. It was a scream, a woman's.

Sighing, hating this feeling inside of her that beckoned to her to help, she followed the sound, coming to an alley where a man – a strange one – had a woman up against the wall and was getting ready to bite her.

She had come across these types before, though she did not have a name for them. They were ugly with strange foreheads, sharp incisors, and only came out at night.

"Hey! Let her go," she ordered, realizing she should have looked around for a weapon before calling the guy out.

He turned to her, all fangy and glowing yellow eyes. "Wait your turn."

"Nope. I hate waiting." Faster than she should have been able to, she was behind the man, hand on his shoulder, and with a strength that had stopped surprising her years ago, threw up back and against the opposite wall so hard it should have killed him.

But it didn't. It never did.

He came at her fast. She spun, kicking out with her right foot and connecting with his stomach, sending him flying backward once again. She was on him in a second, her knee connecting with his jaw as he was doubled over. This lifted him up and off the ground. Her fist followed, slamming into his stomach once, twice before his feet touched the ground. Then her fist found his jaw, forcing his head back into the wall, cracking the brick it connected with.

He growled at her, reaching for her.

"Here! Use this!" The woman behind her.

The object she tossed to her was a piece of wood with a splintered end. She didn't even look back to see it. She just instinctively reached back and caught it over her shoulder, spun it around, sharp end first, and drove it into the man's chest.

With one last cry of anger, he turned to dust.

"Thank you so much," the woman said. She turned around to find her standing only a foot or so behind her. She had long dark hair and a big smile on her face.

"Don't worry about it," she said, turning and preparing to leave the alley and go home.

"At least tell me your name," the woman stated.

She sighed, pausing in her steps. "Joan. My name is Joan."

The woman came to her side and held out her hand, smile still on her face. "Pleased to meet you, Joan. My name is Cordelia."


End file.
